


Betwixt Order and Chaos

by light_loves_the_dark



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, I mean, Maybe a little OOC, Valjean ships it, but this is my way of giving these characters a hug, if the movie does a post-death scene then so can I, kind of quotable, sort of not, sort of romance, they die but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4051000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_loves_the_dark/pseuds/light_loves_the_dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Crime and whores and murder… These were all dark things. But the law was not the light. Forgiveness is light, in all its brilliance. Love and mercy and hope, all these things he had forsaken, all these things he called weak; they were the very definition of light." </p><p>A peek into an improbable relationship between two unloved characters, but more importantly, a second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betwixt Order and Chaos

**Author's Note:**

> This stemmed from a vicious need to give every Les Mis character a hug. Please comment if you have a chance! Also on FanFiction, but this version is updated.

They had to be silent. They had to be silent above all else.

 

They pretended it was because if they spoke a single word, they might be found out. But most of the Paris police was busy preparing for another possible revolution; the first had certainly done its job getting the people riled up. And besides, no one would ever dare travel under a bridge in the middle of winter.

 

He slowly spun the girl in a circle, bringing her back against his broad chest carefully. His expression never changed, and though he would never reveal it to her, he was terrified of hurting her. The Inspector forced himself to be attentive; he had never been in any sort of relationship before. He did not know how to be gentle, or anything other than tense and rigid. He feared he never would.

 

Eponine, however, did not ever seem to care about gentleness. She clung to his coat so tightly her knuckles were dead white, because the nonsensical thoughts passing through her head told her that she had to hold on or else Javert would disappear,  or else he would leave her. And though she was in loathe to admit any words of affection for the man, she could not bear to be left alone.

 

That was what this was anyway, was it not? Two isolated souls, seeking some form of greedy comfort from the other’s misfortune. No one else would ever contemplate soothing the heartless Inspector, nor the clever Thenardier street urchin. They were on their own, and in their loneliness, had found each other.

 

After all, even if a person was wealthy, beautiful, and intelligent, even if this person was the epitome of perfection and loveliness, none of that was worth a single, solitary thing if there was no one with which to share it.

 

Eponine had discovered and understood Javert on what was certainly the worst day of his life. His life, poor and empty as the urchin’s pockets, was a monotonous circle of law and order, making sure thieves and murderers were all locked away for the sake of the innocent, the upper class. The day that his very existence had been unknowingly peeled away by the thief, Jean Valjean, who in his ignorance had spared Javert’s life. Valjean was unaware that, by saving Javert, he had instantly condemned him.

 

For how could a man who had dedicated his life to the incarceration of thieves ever stand to be in the debt of one?

 

So the infamous police inspector had dangled on the edge of life, though his feet were planted firmly on the cool stone of the bridge beneath him. He had thought God could perhaps allow him to seal his eternity in Hell in peace, for He had not allowed Javert to live very tranquil existence. However, Javert was convinced God was not listening to him now. The sky was black, and the stars were grey, and the only white the inspector could see was the foam caps on the rough river below.

 

Unfortunately, God decided he could not even end his wretched misery. For no sooner had he opened his arms wide to welcome death, did death laugh in his face by sending the form of a tiny waif-like girl to those arms instead, to tackle him back onto solid ground.

 

The edge was now so far away…

 

The waif went by the name of Eponine Thenardier, the daughter of a man Javert had been chasing for quite a long time. Eponine was not beautiful; one could probably not even venture to call her pretty. She was fair, her only pleasing feature being her olive-shaped, chocolate-colored eyes that were far too big for her thin face. Her dirty brown hair fell in scraggly waves past her shoulders, and her skin was covered in at least an inch of grime.

 

She told him that she saved him only because her brother and she would sneak down to the river and drink from it, and the water was already bad enough without a dead body decaying on the riverbed. Still in shock, Javert did not reply.

 

Eponine shrugged, standing. She made to leave, when he quickly reached out to grasp her thin wrist. The Thenardier girl turned back to him, a question in her eyes.

 

“Yes, Monsieur Inspector?” She prompted, and Javert could see a hint of fear in her eyes.

 

“I would not hurt you, Mademoiselle,” he blurted, his voice unnaturally hoarse. His words only made her cringe more, to the point where she was leaning so far away from him that if he let go of her wrist, he knew she would fall over.

 

Eponine spared him a tiny, wry grin. “I am no Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” she correctly softly. She reached up with her other hand to remove his grip on her wrist, trying to ignore how he attempted to surreptitiously wipe the grime off his hand. Of course, Eponine was used to that sort of thing from her Marius. “Now, I’ll just be going, then,” she tried again.

 

Javert watched the girl scramble away from his imposing presence. “Thank you,” he whispered gently to her disappearing form.

 

He did not even glance back at the bridge before turning and walking away.

 

They met for the second time at the empty tavern that, before, had housed the rebels and their followers. Javert walked in silently, startled to see Eponine gently sweeping up the shards of glass that littered the room. Though she did not see him, he watched her clean for what seemed like hours before finally deciding to speak.

 

“Good afternoon, Mademoiselle,” Javert greeted, watching in what might be called amusement as Eponine nearly fell over, skittering to her feet and staring at him with astonished eyes.

 

Finally, she seemed to recover and instead, gazed at him with thoughtfulness. “Is it, Monsieur Inspector?”

 

Javert averted his gaze from hers, instead looking to the window. “It is not as dreary as winter days sometimes come,” he observed, contemplating the sun’s dying rays reflected in the broken window.

 

Eponine paused, considering this. “Yes, but Monsieur, it is still not a good day. The spirit of this place, of the people, is very low,” she admitted. The girl wondered why she was sharing this with such a man as the one standing before her. He could not understand what the people felt! She would be surprised if Inspector Javert felt anything at all.

 

But then, the man threw her for another loop. “Yes, but Mademoiselle Thenardier, it is in the cheerless, dismal times that we must think of the sun,” he said, nodding toward the broken window once more.

 

Eponine was shocked –and reluctantly impressed- that he knew her heritage; surely he would’ve arrested her by now if he had? “But when things are so broken…” she trailed off, gazing at the shattered glass that lay beneath the window. Javert nodded, before bowing to her and disappearing down the staircase.

 

When Eponine arrived the next day to continue sweeping, the broken window was fixed, with shimmering new glass.

 

When the street girl looked closer, she noticed it had a handwritten note tucked into it. Eponine wasn’t very well read, but she brought it to a vendor selling apples outside. After giving her a cautious look, he read aloud:  

 

_Seine at Sunset_

 

Of course, Eponine went.

 

They spoke for hours about trivial matters, and Eponine came to the realization that Javert wanted her here simply because he was lonely. So was she, so she did not mind at all.

 

They began to meet every Thursday at sunset, under the very bridge where Eponine had pulled the Inspector from his suicide. It was a strange situation for both of them; the two had always been alone, and no one ever really paid much attention to them. Javert had the law, and Eponine had her undying love for Marius. This was all they really needed, they decided. But underneath it all, they were certainly glad they had someone to speak honestly with.  

 

Javert taught Eponine how to read, and Eponine taught Javert how to skip stones across the river when it unfroze. They spoke about Eponine’s family, and when she pressed him, she found out small details about his past as well. When it was cold, he brought an extra jacket. When it was warm, Eponine would pick a violet from the ground and tuck it in his lapel. The other officers would wonder, but they always did when it came to Javert, so they said nothing.

 

Finally, Eponine gathered the courage to ask him to teach her to dance. And as it always was when the street girl asked something of him, he could not find it within himself to say no.

 

These lessons became addictive. Javert would wrap Eponine in his arms under the guise of dancing, but really he simply wanted someone to hold. She was so small that his arms completely enveloped her, and when she slid her arms under his jacket to wrap around his waist, she was glad he did not stop her. She did not dare admit it, but it was only in these moments that she felt truly warm against the winter air, and protected against the world.

 

Javert would rest his chin on her head, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. She did not smell the best, but then again, neither did he. They would take small steps in a circle to keep up the façade, but each knew deep down that dance lessons were not why Javert would leave his post a minute or two early to climb under the bridge on time.

 

Dance lessons and long talks were not why Eponine forgot to peek into the café to check if Marius was there.

 

When she guiltily told him of this, peeking at him up over her eyelids, Javert decided that he did not care about conventional looks. Because, in this moment, when he realized that, even just once, he came before the boy student in her eyes, Eponine seemed to him to be truly beautiful.

 

One day, however, he did not appear.

 

Eponine knew this day had been long in coming. She knew that a thief and a whore such as herself was not worthy of companionship for too long, even when said companionship was coming from such a heartless and cold character like Inspector Javert. They had never spoken of length, or for that matter, of loyalty. After all, Eponine had already invested her loyalty in another man, one that would never look at her twice.

 

A few days before, she heard of Valjean’s death through the grapevine of thieves and murderers. He was somewhat of a legend in the slums, having evaded Javert’s sharp claws for so long. Knowing Marius would be there with Cosette, she made up her mind to attend his funeral.

  
She knew it would probably be the last time she ever saw Marius, but she hadn’t known it was the last time she would see the police inspector.

 

The girl knew he had never belonged to anyone, and though she still denied any true affection for the man, she wanted him to be hers. And somewhere, buried deep down in the recesses of her heart, she wanted the cold, empty shell of a man to think of her as his.

 

Though they did not speak to each other, crystal blue eyes met muddy brown across the small church numerous times. Both stood with their heads bowed in the back, because though it was a public event, neither felt like they had much of a right to be there. After all, Eponine had never truly met the man, and Javert had only ever hunted him. Yet, this man had changed both of their lives in a remarkable amount of ways, and despite the Inspector’s insistence that he never saw Valjean as more than a common street criminal, Javert had craved Valjean’s presence in his life as much as the stars crave the existence of the moon, though they knew that it would forever outshine them. Eponine, on the other hand, forever saw the ex-mayor as a symbol of what her life could have been like, had she been taken away and not Cosette.

 

Both outcasts left before the two newly wedded young people saw them. Eponine stuck to her shadows for a while, only leaving two days later to travel to the bridge where she was supposed to meet Javert. Before she even arrived, she had a certain sense of foreboding. The girl somehow knew before the cool stone touched her feet that he would not be there. The bridge was dark and the sky was black, and she thought maybe Javert had been right about the stars. The sky seemed empty and cruel without the little beacons of light.

 

Only, he regarded them as order. She thought of them, scattered and fluctuating as they were, as a perfect kind of chaos.

 

Eponine had guessed, of course, that Javert wouldn’t last long without Valjean. The two were inexplicably tied, and when one left the world, the other seemed to have no cause to stay. There was no more need to pursue, no more need to run. She supposed she was a bit disappointed that she had not caused him to remain in this life, but she knew he did not love her. She did not claim to be aware of much, but she knew this.

 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up onto the railing of the bridge, staring down at the watery abyss. Funny how she had stopped Javert from doing this very thing, when she had no intention of stopping herself. Wrapping her arms tightly about her waist, she fell. No preamble, no last words, no hands grabbing her waist and hauling her back. Eponine took this as proof she should go ahead and die; no one cared for her anymore. Javert, though she refused to admit it even to herself, had been the last reason for which she needed to stay alive.

 

And he was gone. And now, so was she.

 

There was a flash of terrible pain when she hit the water, and for a moment, everything went black, blacker than night. Suddenly, it was as if she was swimming for the surface. She held her breath out of instinct, watching her hair float about her. The darkness of the water was beneath her, but the light was above, and she swam frantically for it. The stars that had previously been covered now shined brightly in her eyes, blinding her. Eponine knew that if she could just reach them, she’d be okay. She would finally come into a world that blessed her, leaving behind the world that condemned her.

 

For a brief period of time, she could reach nothing. And then, suddenly, large hands encompassed her tiny waist, hauling her out of the darkness and into the light. Through her drenched, dark hair, Eponine found herself staring into the bright and kind eyes of a man she somehow knew as Jean Valjean.

 

“Thank you,” she breathed, somewhat amazed by his strength. Her feet barely brushed the ground, and tiny blades of grass tickled her bare toes. The tall man smiled, setting her gently on her feet.

 

She glanced around her in wonder. Bright, verdant fields spread across her vision, as far as the eye could see. Was this wonderful, beautiful place Heaven? Eponine twisted her hands in confusion; surely she was not good enough to stand in the presence of God. Surely she was not pure enough to be saved by a saint such as Jean Valjean.

 

A single tree stood tall in the middle of the plain, and beneath its shade stood an equally still, familiar figure. Eponine could not stop the radiant smile that stole across her pale face. The Inspector was turned away from them, and clearly had not yet realized that she stood not thirty feet away. For certain her heart did not begin to race, nor did her fingers twitch in anticipation of being held again. Eponine caught the light brown eyes of the man standing next to her; he smiled fondly and knowingly. Eponine blushed a deep burgundy.

 

“We have been waiting for you, my dear,” the ex-convict told Eponine, holding out his arm for her to take. “My dear friend over here has been most anxious for news of your passing, though I do not think he suspected to hear of it so soon.”

 

She cautiously laced her arm through his. “Do you think he’ll be angry?” She asked with trepidation.

 

Valjean chuckled. “I have no doubt about that.” They began to walk over to the imposing figure.

 

Eponine noticeably shrunk back as they drew closer. “Javert would never hurt you,” Valjean comforted. “Surely you know that man is quite fond of you, Mademoiselle Eponine,” he told her, unaware of how loud he was speaking. Inspector Javert immediately spun to face them, and the girl stared into his eyes for the first time since the funeral.

 

“Eponine?”

 

The girl wasn’t really sure if her name had been the word that left his lips. It was more a horrified gasp, coming from the man Eponine had only known to have one emotion regarding everyone except for Valjean: indifference. Eponine had only seen severe apathy in his expression, save for that first night at the bridge.

 

But this wasn’t apathy. This was powerful, unadulterated rage. Javert strode toward her, grasping her by the shoulders. Eponine flinched as he leaned over her smaller frame, his ice blue eyes paralyzing her where his strong hands could not. “How did you die, girl?” he snarled. “Mon Dieu, _who dared to touch you?_ ”

 

The slum girl shook with terror, but when Valjean attempted to intervene, Javert simply pushed him away. “Eponine, I asked you a question!”

 

Eponine looked down at her feet, noticing their cleanliness for the first time. “I-I’m sorry, Monsieur-”

 

“Javert,” he corrected immediately. “You are evading me, Eponine. Who _killed_ you?”

 

“Javert,” she repeated quietly, tested the foreign word out on her tongue. She paused, before deciding that telling the truth was most likely the best decision. “I-I killed _myself.”_

The hands on her shoulders relaxed in shock, and Eponine pulled away out of habit. Even Valjean seemed surprised. Eponine glanced up slightly, her eyes shooting back to the ground at the sight of Javert’s murderous expression. “Why?” He grounded out, still seeming to be attempting to regain control over his emotions.

 

Eponine’s eyes hardened, a bit of her old gumption returning. “Why, you ask? Because of you! Because you had to go and die and I had no one left. I was alone, on my own, what was I supposed to do?”

 

“Live!” Javert shouted, giving up any control he previously had. For God’s sake, this was heaven. They were dead! There were no more pretenses. “Live for all the idiots like the two men in front of you that never got the chance!” He glared at her, before his eyes widened, seeming to truly take her presence in for the first time. “God, help me,” he murmured, before he lunged forward, yanking her forcefully against him so that he could feel every inch of her body against his, holding her tightly against him.

 

After a few seconds of struggling, she relaxed against him. His hands slid uncertainly down her arms, before eventually and decisively closing around her waist and lifting her up in order to bury his face in her neck. Eponine smiled widely, lightly running a hand over his shoulder.

 

A few minutes of this passed, and finally Valjean could stand the awkwardness no more and cleared his throat. The two immediately disentangled themselves, and Eponine’s blush rivaled the color of a ripe tomato. Javert looked relatively embarrassed himself.

 

“He’s waiting,” Jean said softly, nodding toward a set of double, ornate-looking gates in the distance. Neither Javert nor Eponine needed him to tell them whom he meant.

 

Javert took a short step forward, a wary sort of wonder warming his cold eyes. “The doorway to Paradise,” he said, an almost musical tone to his words. He seemed wistful, his eyes taking in the wondrous doors as if he believed, once he reached them, he would not be let in.

 

“I did not see them before now,” Eponine wondered, taking her worried gaze off Javert.

 

Valjean set a strong hand on her thin shoulder. “You were not ready, I think,” he observed wisely.

 

Eponine was dubious. “You mean I am more ready now than I was two minutes ago?”

 

He glanced at her in surprise. “Of course,” he replied. “Do you not feel it? There was a reason Javert and I had to wait here for you, my dear. He was not ready, and I think maybe neither was I.”

 

As the Inspector watched them interact, he realized suddenly that he had been more wrong than he previously thought. The world, humans, even God himself… They were not black and white, but instead they were thrown in shades of grey. Eponine was a thieving street urchin, but her heroic actions regarding both him and the barricades redeemed her. Her strength and love for Marius Pontmercy redeemed her.

 

Valjean had stolen a loaf of bread.

 

It was absolutely ridiculous now, looking back. For shame, the bread had not even been for him! The ex-convict, despite all the hell he was going through at the time, had then allowed God back into his life, saving the lives of hundreds of workers and loving his little Cosette more than words could describe. Valjean was not a good man.

 

He was a saint, plain and simple.

 

And then, himself, Inspector Javert. The gypsy child to whom no one had deigned give a Christian name. Instead of letting go of the ugly past, he lived in it, allowing the details of his childhood to choke his existence, making it utterly worthless. Crime and whores and murder… These were all dark things. But the law was not the light. _Forgiveness_ is light, in all its brilliance. _Love_ and _mercy_ and _hope_ , all these things he had forsaken, all these things he called weak; they were the very definition of light.

 

And watching Eponine laugh with Valjean in absolute elation, an emotion he had never quite seen on her lovely face, Javert thought that maybe it was not too late.

 

Not to follow the law, but to follow the light.

 

Javert was brought out of his thoughts by a tug on his hand. Eponine was gallantly holding out her arm, smiling brightly at him as Valjean took her other hand and slipped it in his arm. The Inspector could not even bring himself to be jealous at the easy camaraderie between them; Eponine was his, and he was hers. It was as simple as that.

 

He gently grasped her hand, pulled it through his arm. He glanced down at the girl, and though he did not necessarily believe in affection, he figured he was turning over a new leaf. So he bent over, dropping a short kiss on the crown of her head. Eponine stared up at him with wide, surprised eyes, and he simply shrugged. Valjean exploded into happy laughter, and the younger man’s eyes narrowed at the ex-convict. He would not be made fun of, no matter how changed he was, or at least was determined to be.

 

“I am sorry,” Jean apologized, his laughter reducing to a small chuckle. “I have suddenly realized love is very beautiful.” Eponine and Javert shared a meaningful look; Valjean had obviously lost whatever sanity he had left.

 

The Inspector, the Saint, and the Street Urchin finally began walking toward the gate, arm in arm. They knew that when they passed through the gleaming and glittering doorway, they would no longer be these things. They would be one and the same, simply infants in the eyes of those greater than them. Eponine leaned against Javert, smiling up at the unflinching officer. Javert’s lips twitched, and Eponine thought it might just be progress.

 

Whatever they had, he supposed it must be good enough for heaven.

 

But it wasn’t love.

Yet. 

 

 

 


End file.
